


Shine Like Fire

by sickly _sweet (sketchy_and_unformed)



Category: CKY (Band)
Genre: Adultery, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-30
Updated: 2007-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketchy_and_unformed/pseuds/sickly%20_sweet
Summary: This is the only room of the house that Tim gets to see in detail, only he is never really looking because Deron takes approximately three seconds to turn on a small bedside lamp and toe off his sneakers before he is pushing Tim firmly down onto the bed which is shockingly soft, the mattress puffed up and padded by a huge, snowy white duvet that always feels and smells brand new.Livejournal repost.
Relationships: Deron Miller/Felissa Rose, Deron Miller/Tim Yeung
Collections: Livejournal reposts: CKY/HIM





	Shine Like Fire

Tim’s hair is long, shiny and smooth in an entirely feminine way, and this is a good thing. Deron is captivated by Tim’s hair and the way that it moves, swings around violently when Tim is drumming or headbanging, becomes one silky mass with the light bouncing off of it in white contrast stripes. He’s this tiny, delicate looking thing with hair the colour of charcoal that flows down over his shoulders and sometimes Deron cannot stop staring.  
  
They own at least five of the same death metal t-shirts and they go out together to see bands, hang out backstage at Malevolent Creation shows and drink beer and headbang together on the balcony or at the side of the stage where sometimes their shoulders and elbows collide. Other times Tim drums for Deron and Deron pushes him to go faster, harder, his limbs an incoherent blur but the rhythm is immaculate and crushing and it punches into Deron’s head, replacing his pulse with a tripping double-bass beat. Tim’s body is small but hard and firm, muscle fitted over bone with faintly golden skin stretched tight over everything, keeping it all strapped down. Tim sweats as he drums and Deron watches him sweat and watches the black blur of his hair, his hands moving so fast that it hurts Deron’s eyes to try and follow them but he always does try every time.  
  
Sometimes Deron takes Tim home with him, it’s always a short drive from wherever they are and Tim likes to sit in the back seat, rigging up his iPod to play through the car radio to confuse and amaze Deron, who doesn’t even own an iPod and doesn’t really understand the technology. Tim sits on the right of the car so that his eyes can meet Deron’s in the rearview mirror and Deron can always see the smile shining in their dark depths, it makes Tim look wicked and depraved and Deron can’t look too often or he might end up crashing the car.  
  
Deron’s driveway is wide and manicured within an inch of its life; smooth, even red brick bordered by bright green grass and beyond that darker hedges cut into the shape of spheres, but all of this colour and shape is lost in the night time, covered over by shadows and the glow of the porch light. The front door should match the driveway but to Tim it has always looked orange in that light, the white walls look orange too and they don’t pause to take it in because Deron always has a hand between his shoulders, guiding-pushing him inside, straight through the darkened living room which seems spacious and decked out in light colours but Tim can’t be sure, he can only tell that the carpet is thick and soft beneath his feet so it doesn’t matter that he never has time to take his shoes off before he is tripping up the stairs ahead of Deron. Tim’s sure that it must be a really nice house but he’s never yet seen it in daylight.  
  
They always end up in the smallest guest bedroom, which is a good three rooms down the hall from the master bedroom where Felissa is sleeping, past the main bathroom and the children’s room and the study and the _other_ guest bedroom, which will probably become Lola’s room in a couple of years unless more children arrive to fill the space, past all of those rooms is where Deron directs Tim through a door that locks behind them with a quiet click that is sharpened by the silence almost audibly pulsing around them. This is the only room of the house that Tim gets to see in detail, only he is never really looking because Deron takes approximately three seconds to turn on a small bedside lamp and toe off his sneakers before he is pushing Tim firmly down onto the bed which is shockingly soft, the mattress puffed up and padded by a huge, snowy white duvet that always feels and smells brand new. Tim’s body sinks and the black of his hair-eyes-clothes makes him stand out against the clouds of white even as he is swallowed up by them so that Deron could never lose sight of him, could never forget what is happening in this, the smallest guest bedroom.  
  
Deron always starts with Tim’s shoes, pulling them carefully off of his feet and placing them beneath the bed, then he peels off his socks and balls them up inside the shoes. After that he stops being so careful because Tim is leaning up on his elbows and watching him and that shimmering hair is dulled with tangles by now and framing his face like a scribbled smoke halo or a crown of thorns that either way Deron needs to be so much closer to and touching, so he crawls up the bed, up and over Tim’s thin legs and tiny body. Deron’s own legs slip naturally outside Tim’s to frame them; their hips settle together like they were built for this, moulded from the same cast, and Deron’s hands slide up Tim’s sides until they reach his arms and keep going, pushing his arms up above his head. Tim flops down into the pillows and lets Deron touch him, those rough fingers dragging over his skin almost like sand paper but sweeter, then Deron mouths the bump of his Adam’s apple and the grate of his beard is even more like sandpaper, a good kind of sting.  
  
Tim could be too beautiful for his own good, for _anyone’s_ own good, his eyes fluttering closed beneath perfect eyebrows delicately arched and jet-black just like everything else, that hair again all but obliterating the white of the pillow beneath, full lips just barely parted in a sigh or a whisper or the very beginnings of a scream, just shallow breaths puffing in and out between them. His chin tilts up and his throat bobs when he swallows and Deron blacks it all out just for a second when he pulls Tim’s t-shirt up and over his head, pulls from where it starts at his stomach and all the way up until it clears the very tips of his fingers, and he never knows what happens to that t-shirt until they find it somewhere afterwards because right now his eyes have to return to that face, the beauty and finesse of it jarring with the sculpted lines of the arms and chest newly exposed, the two so wrong together but somehow a perfect fit.  
  
Deron finally kisses Tim and it’s like a chemical reaction, sensation flowing from where their lips meet all the way down through Deron’s body, dripping into his stomach and pooling there. He sucks Tim’s lower lip into his mouth and his teeth ache to sink into the flesh but he is gentle and controlled, and Tim’s hips punch up reflexively against his own and he suddenly angles his mouth until their teeth click together frantically, opening so impossibly wide against each other that Deron feels his jaw could unhinge completely while his tongue plays with Tim’s, tasting everything that it can find. His hands bury themselves in that ashen mass of hair, pure silken threads flowing between his fingers like tiny trails of water, and he pulls away only to push his face against it and breathe it in, smelling sweat and shampoo and heat. He pushes his hands up and through it and kisses Tim and moans almost desperately into this kiss, into its wetness, and his hips are grinding down, denim dragging against denim.  
  
Tim has to fight to get Deron out of his clothes because he moves against him like a man possessed and it’s a constant game of waiting for a single inch of space between them before he can act, tugging at the layers in hopes that he can remove them, and eventually he manages it before Deron’s mouth reattaches itself to his jaw, biting along and down and tasting the sweat on him. Deron drags his hot tongue down Tim’s neck and makes him gasp and buck upwards, then his nose nudges the crease of an armpit and he’s overwhelmed by the damp thick smell of Tim’s body and all of its tiny trigger responses. He moves his mouth there and the smell invades his taste buds and wraps itself around his tongue and pushes up against the roof of his mouth and coats the back of his throat indelibly, makes Deron groan deep and long and fumble until he finds a way to get rid of Tim’s jeans.  
  
Their skin is just slightly wet against each other and they drag their fingers over it and leave patterns behind. Deron is panting and sucking at Tim’s neck and his hand stutters and scratches down his chest and straight to his cock, palming it as Tim arches his back and hisses and pulls at the bedclothes in bunches and his legs twitch, then Deron is spitting into his own hand and smoothing the saliva down between Tim’s thighs which part wide and needful for him. He rubs the tips of his fingers over and then just slightly into and Tim thrashes on the bed, heels digging in, breath halting for so long before necessity makes him pull in oxygen again. Deron’s fingers rubbing their way inside of him and his muscles spasm around them, sucking them further inside and he wants to cry out but Deron pushes his other hand over his open mouth and Tim bites at his palm and licks his fingers and sucks on those too.  
  
When Deron breaches Tim with his cock the noise that Tim makes is almost like one that Felissa could make, only his voice cracks over it in an entirely masculine way and his muscles are so tight and firm, hard thighs crushing Deron’s hips. Deron gasps into Tim’s neck and lets his body burn with it, driving himself up and in as deep as Tim can take it, his eyes dark and wide and burning too, his mouth stained red and his throat drawn tight and moving senselessly. Deron lets his body take over and claim what it wants from Tim while he watches and marvels and savours that dark and almost bitter scent that still lingers in his mouth. His hands find their way into Tim’s hair again and it shines over his fingers and matches the shine in Tim’s eyes, strands catch on his fingers and he leans down to bite at Tim’s mouth again and they smother groans against each other while their hips rock back and forth over and over and over.  
  
It seems to last only seconds and when Deron comes it’s something that rolls through him from the base of his spine through to his cock and finally up into his chest, washing through him like a tide of fire, tearing one stifled moan of Tim’s name out of him. He grabs at Tim’s cock and makes sure that he comes too, arching off of the bed again, mouth open in a silent yell and clenching painfully tight around Deron and their hands find each other’s and squeeze and hold on fiercely.  
  
Tim isn’t even allowed to use the bathroom in Deron’s house to clean up in but Deron keeps a towel beneath the bed in the smallest guest bedroom that is already stiff in places from their fluids dried into it, and it’s now that Tim spots his t-shirt draped over the end of the bed or in a heap on the floor or once even on the desk against the opposite wall, and it makes him smile as he stretches out his overworked limbs. Deron feels loose and drained and very, very good inside and he makes little moaning noises still as he lounges back against the pillows, watching Tim dress from beneath heavy eyelids, watching his jetty hair flow in tangled rivers, his powerful but small body being covered in more black to hide that warm not-quite-tan colour that sweeps over the muscle and bone.  
  
Later on Deron will drive Tim home, or at least to somewhere else, endlessly grateful that Felissa is such a heavy sleeper as his car sweeps into their driveway for a second time before he kills the lights and engine. He takes a quick shower although he always wishes it could be longer, cool so that he doesn’t sweat any more when he’s done, washing abrasively to try and scrub away the aches and smells, though soap doesn’t cleanse away the memories and mouthwash can never banish Tim’s taste from his tongue. He dries himself and checks in on his girls before he goes to bed, never before four-thirty anymore, not on these nights, and he slips carefully in beside his wife, the caution returning now, and in the gloom of the night her brown hair scattered over the pillow could be black, could look just like Tim’s, and Deron curls up close to Felissa and lets exhaustion black out his thoughts and feelings until the morning breaks again.


End file.
